


Part of the Plan

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Holidays, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, New Year's Eve, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What are you doin' New Year's - New Year's Eve?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of the Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Based on fanart by [TheChosenChu](http://thechosenchu.tumblr.com/) \- [and then beautifully illustrated by her, as well!](http://thechosenchu.tumblr.com/post/109228778605/might-as-well-upload-this-while-im-at-it-based) Enjoy some NYE, first meeting fluff. 
> 
> \--

Winter break is always pretty uneventful for Marco, and aside from the break from course work, he can't really say he cares much about being home for the holidays. He'd rather be on campus most days, where at least he has  _some_  semblance of a social life. The end of December in the tiny town where he grew up is a literal dead period, with the people no more awake and alive than the flowers and trees around them. So when he gets a text message a few days after Christmas from his friend Krista, he's in the state of mind to accept just about any invitation she throws his way.   
  
From: Krista  
What are you doin New Years?   
New Years Eve? ;)

Dec 29 3:48PM  
  
He can actually  _hear_  her singsong voice, the laughter behind her words. The smile that punctuates her second message seems laden with intentions that she's not sharing with him, but he's bored and game for nearly anything. Ten minutes and a few texts later, he has plans to attend a party, and a slightly bad feeling about  _why_  he might have been invited.   
  
\--  
  
Jean has never really been one much for parties.   
  
They're too loud to talk to people, too crowded to get comfortable, and in this case - as he sits at a house party in his friend's girlfriend's apartment on New Year's Eve - too full of couples for a  _very single_  Jean not to be bitter about.   
  
The drinks are okay, and at least most of the faces are halfway familiar, but everywhere he looks, people are in various stages of making out or dragging each other out to the balcony or to one of the back rooms. He finds a vacant corner of a beaten-up couch and flops down there, drink in one hand and his phone in the other. It's only a little after ten when he checks the time, and he groans loud enough that people can probably hear him as he types up a text - or rather they  _could,_  if if any of them were aware of his existence.

  
From: Jean  
Why the hell did you even invite me to this party?  
Why the hell did I COME?  
Dec 31 10:04PM  
  
His friends answers right away, raising an eyebrow and shaking her head at him from her seat just across the noisy, crowded living room.   
  
From: Ymir  
Because you love me. :P

Dec 31 10:05PM  
  
From: Jean  
Whatever.  
I am literally the only person here without a date.  
Coulda warned me about that.  
Dec 31 10:07PM  
  
From: Ymir  
Mm, not the only one...

That guy to your left is here alone too.  
And maybe half the reason I invited you. ;)

Dec 31 10:09PM  
  
Jean looks up from her messages with wide eyes, to see her snickering with her girlfriend. They're looking back at him, whispering to each other, and only after eying them for a moment does he remember Ymir's message.  _'That guy to your left',_  she'd said. He turns his head to the side on reflex, and immediately locks eyes with a slightly startled - and absolutely  _adorable_  - freckled brunet, who looks just as shocked at Jean's presence as Jean is at his. They stare at each other for a long moment until Jean can't stand the embarrassment anymore, and he ducks his head back to his phone to pretend he isn't beginning to blush.   
  
From: Jean  
You invited me here to set me up with someone?!?!!  
Dec 31 10:10PM  
  
From: Ymir  
I mean it was technically Krista's idea, but yeah, kinda.  
Dec 31 10:11PM  
  
From: Jean  
Well it's not gonna work.  
I don't need you and your girlfriend picking dates for me.  
Assholes.  
Dec 31 10:13PM  
  
He doesn't bother mentioning what he's really thinking.   
  
That guy is absolutely gorgeous, and has no business being single in the first place. He definitely has no business being stuck on a half-assed attempt at a blind date, set up by Ymir's nosey girlfriend. And he  _really_  has no business being stuck with Jean. But there's no need to say all of that to Ymir, or anyone else.   
  
Instead, Jean wriggles himself deeper into the corner of the couch he's sitting on, intent on watching the party happen around him, and counting down the time until midnight along with everyone else, if for no other reason than because then, he can leave. When the cute stranger to his left stands and walks away, Jean lets out a long sigh of relief, edged with the faintest hint of disappointment. He can't blame the guy.  
  
He just wishes - against his better judgement - that he'd caught the guy's name.

  
\--  
  
Marco knew it was probably not the  _best_  idea to attend one of Krista's parties without a date, but come ten o'clock, he's sitting in the middle of one anyway.   
  
Everyone around him seems to be in some sort of relationship, to be paired up with another partygoer or two. Even his hostess is too busy with her girlfriend to talk to him much, so much so that she's suspiciously  _avoidant_  of him the entire night. So he sits on the couch in the middle of the bustling living room, smiling at the people that pass him by.   
  
As he pokes at the plate of party food in his lap, he hears giggling, and his ears begin to heat up with the assumption that it's at his expense. The lone, single guy at a party full of kissing people – he knows what a painfully easy target he must seem. When he looks up and sees that it's Krista and her girlfriend laughing - and they are indeed looking in the direction of the couch he's perched on - his heart sinks. But their eyes are focused slightly to his right, and his nervous curiosity has his head turning before he thinks better of it   
  
Beside him on the couch is a blond man, who seems relatively close to Marco in age, and relatively close to his level of put out with the party. Marco wonders for a moment why the girls are snickering at him, if the attractive stranger beside him is waiting on someone to return, and what his name might be. But then the blond man is turning his head as well, and his eyes fall on Marco's before Marco can pull his gaze away. He's intriguing, he's gorgeous, he's...  _staring._  Marco's heart hammers in his chest as he tries not to let his eyes go wide.

  
  


He fails.   
  
The stranger drops his gaze after a moment, diving back into poking at his phone, and Marco swallows anxiously. He's relieved to be out from under the intense gaze of the other man, but can't help missing those eyes on him. He can't even remember what color they were, only that he wishes they would look at him again. But they don't move from the small screen in the stranger's hand, and eventually Marco begins to realize that his staring probably scared him.   
  
The  _one other_  seemingly single person at the party is insanely attractive, and Marco has blown any and all chances at even learning his name by gawking at him. A growing chorus of reasons why he doesn't deserve to speak to the cute stranger begin echoing in his head, and he fidgets anxiously with the edge of his plate. Unable to calm the panicked wailing in his mind, he stands, and makes straight for the heavy sliding door that leads to the apartment's balcony. At least outside in the crisp evening air, his face doesn't feel quite as much like it's going to burst into flames.   
  
\--  
  
There's only so much Jean can take.  
  
At a quarter 'til eleven, he finally stands from his spot on the couch, stretching in hopes that his frustration at watching a party he's  _very clearly_  not part of for nearly two hours will fall away with the kinks in his shoulders and back. No one even acknowledges his presence as he meanders into the kitchen to grab another drink, and when he hears the raucous laughter emanating from the living room behind him, he grabs another, just to be safe. He's definitely going to need it.   
  
There isn't a room in the cramped apartment that isn't full of kissing couples. Jean uses a bent elbow to nudge the handle of the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony, hopeful that in the cool air outside, he'll at least be able to avoid the uncomfortable stuffiness of the apartment he steps out of.   
  
Maybe he can just linger out here all evening. It's a decent plan, he figures; the temperature isn't as cold as it seemed upon stepping out of the overheated apartment, and he could get used to the relative silence of the open air. But he hears a soft sound behind him as he slides the door closed, and realizes that he hasn't exactly found solitude.   
  
What's worse, it's the guy from the couch. And he's even cuter up close, with a slight blush from the nighttime chill.   
  
"Oh, sorry," Jean says quickly. "I didn't realize anyone was out here." The dark haired stranger shakes his head and stammers a flustered response.   
  
"T-that's okay - I can actually head back in if--"  
  
"No, stay!" Jean says it before he can think it through, and then stares down at the two drinks in his hand as he scrabbles for better phrasing. "I mean - don't leave on  _my_  account. Besides, it, uh... might be nice not to be stuck out here all alone at midnight."  
  
The stranger relaxes a little - even smiles - and nods. "Yeah."  
  
"So... you're not...  _here with_ anyone?" Jean asks after a moment, just to confirm that he's really that lucky, and his stomach flutters when the stranger shakes his head.   
  
"No. Looks like I'm about the only one." He looks through the large glass door and nods toward the gaggle of pairs inside. Jean shakes his head.   
  
"I'm here alone, too. Ymir roped me into coming without mentioning that I'd have literally no one to talk to."  
  
"You have me," the brunet offers, and then tacks on a nervous disclaimer. "That is - I'm here if you'd like to talk."  
  
Jean grins, leaning his hip against the banister of the balcony railing. "Sure. So - what's your name?"  
  
"Marco. Marco Bodt." He says it shyly, like it might be imposing somehow, and Jean has to keep himself from laughing at how unfairly adorable the guy is. Then, just as carefully, Marco asks, "What's yours?"  
  
"I'm Jean Kirschtein." Jean reaches up to cup a hand over the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly when Marco twists his mouth like he's trying to silently pronounce Jean's last name. "Bit of a mouthful, I know."  
  
Marco shrugs, looking down at his empty hands. "I think it's nice."  
  
"Thanks," Jean grins, and offers one of the drinks to Marco. Marco takes it, chewing on his bottom lip for half a second as if he's deciding whether or not to trust Jean enough to drink it, but then he takes a sip and smiles across the brim of the cup, and Jean can't help smiling wider in return.  
  
They stay on the little porch for a long time, talking and laughing and edging ever closer to each other. By the time Jean realizes it's almost midnight, their arms are touching, elbows brushing together every now and then as the two of them stand, looking over the balcony's edge together. There isn't much light, but there's enough that Jean can see the hint of pink in Marco's freckled cheeks, and the deep chocolate brown of his eyes. An hour isn't much time, all things considered. But it's enough that Jean knows he'd like several more hours of talking to this guy, if not a few  _other things._

  
Behind them, the gang of friends inside the house are gathered around the tiny television in the living rooms, arms all slung over each others' shoulders as they loudly count down the seconds before midnight. Everyone is too wrapped up in their partners to notice Jean and Marco missing. Or  _maybe_  - Jean thinks, when Ymir glances over at the balcony door with a brief but knowing smirk - it's all part of the plan. And maybe it's a plan he doesn't mind so much anymore, especially when the person standing beside him under the stars is as cute as Marco Bodt.  
  
He repeats the name to himself in his head, over and over, smiling like an idiot. As the countdown nears zero, he wonders how to spell it, and what it will look like in the contacts of his phone, if he can get up the guts to ask for the number to go with it. And when the final ten seconds begin, he decides with a bitten back grin that no matter how it's spelled, it sounds like it would make a really good  _boyfriend_  name.  
  
"At least out here, no one's gonna razz me about not getting a New Year's kiss," Marco laughs, and Jean can hear the suggestion in his voice. With anyone else, he might poke fun at how thinly veiled it is, but all Marco's obvious attempts at flirting make him wanna do is give in a return the favor.  
  
"Would... you  _like_  one?" He asks, and the way Marco blushes when he shrugs is even cuter than the way he quietly gasps when Jean pulls him a little closer, waiting for some kind of green light. Getting this far was exciting - being this close is a little scary. But everyone inside the apartment cheers at once, a loud chorus of  _"Happy New Year!",_  and then Jean has his answer.   
  
Marco closes the distance between them for a soft, sweet kiss. It's over almost before it starts, but he pulls away smiling, blushing a little darker, and Jean squeezes his hands. He holds them until they're warm against his own, until the cheering inside has settled into a low roar, and 'Auld Lang Syne' has played through to its tinny end.   
  
In the distance, excited shouting can be heard, and just as Jean gets up the courage to lean in for the second of many kisses that night, a technicolor display of fireworks bursts into the sky overhead from a neighboring home. Their reflection lights Marco's warm, dark eyes in a way that makes them look even more alive, more brilliant than before. Jean can't help smiling against the soft press of Marco's lips on his.   
  
It's going to be a  _very_  happy new year. 


End file.
